Sick Day
by ScintillatingAntoinette
Summary: Summary: A quiet Neal is a sick Neal. Peter has visited Neal in prison when he was sick, but he's never had to actually take care of him. Now with El away on a business trip and Mozzie MIA, Peter is forced to care for Neal. NO SLASH.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **_**A quiet Neal is a sick Neal. Peter has visited Neal in prison when he was sick, but he's never had to actually take care of him. Now with El away on a business trip and Mozzie MIA, Peter is forced to care for Neal. NO SLASH.**_

* * *

"Neal! Focus!" Peter snapped. Neal had been uncharacteristically quiet and unfocused that morning.

"Sorry Peter" Neal mumbled and tiredly returned to the case he and Peter were trying to solve.

"Boss, I'm going home for the day and Diana's leaving as well. Apparently there's a storm coming" Jones said as he stuck his head around the office door. Both Neal and Peter looked up and Peter didn't miss the slightly hopeful expression on Neal's face.

"Neal, you wanna leave too?" he commented. Neal dutifully shook his head as Jones raised his eyebrows at Peter.

"You ok?" he asked.

"'m fine" Neal responded, sounding slightly irritated. Jones' question prompted Peter into checking Neal's forehead for a fever. Neal shrugged away, glaring at Peter.

"Really?! Was that necessary?! I'm fine, just tired" Neal snapped.

Jones simply sighed at this exchange and left the office.

"Neal, I'm leaving now. El's away, so you wanna stay over tonight? It's probably easier than going to June's."

"Yes, dad" Neal responded sarcastically, even though Peter could tell he was relieved that he wouldn't be alone.

"Let's go."

* * *

"Anything else I can get you?" Peter hovered like a mother hen.

"NO" snapped Neal. He was covered by two blankets, had a glass of water and a bowl of canned chicken noodle soup on the table. Even Satchmo looked irritated by Peter's hovering. Peter raised his hands in defeat and sat at the kitchen table, idly flipping through paperwork and periodically glancing over at Neal stretched out on the couch.

"Will you stop?!" Neal finally exploded, "I'm going upstairs to sleep." He stormed away, leaving Peter sitting at the table.

"Neal…" Peter followed him up the stairs with Satchmo trailing behind him.

"Peter, go away!" Neal curled on his side, away from Peter. Satchmo jumped up on the bed and snuggled against Neal's back. He gave Peter a look that clearly said if Peter tried to hurt Neal, then Satchmo would _not _be a happy dog. Neal muffled a cough and buried his head under the covers.

"I'm getting you cough syrup."

"Peter it was a cough. Not a—" Neal was interrupted by a spasm of coughing. Peter gave him a withering glare and left the bedroom.

While Peter rummaged through the cabinet where El kept all of the OTC medicine, he remembered another time when Neal was sick. Except that time Neal had been somewhere far less comfortable.

"_Neal? You feeling okay?" Peter asked, having difficulty masking the concern in his face. He watched as Neal sluggishly nodded, and buried his head in his arms. He lifted his head and gave Peter a look and then dropped his head again._

_Peter beckoned the guard over._

"_Take this man to the infirmary and get him checked out."_

"_Peter, I'm fine" Neal sighed. He shakily stood up and Peter moved to support him as he stumbled._

"_Yeah…you're fine…"_

Peter smirked as he remembered that; Neal always denied when he was sick.

"P'ter?" Peter turned and saw a shaky, sweaty Neal leaning against the doorframe clutching a blanket.

"Neal, why are you out of bed?" Peter's words came out harsher than he expected. Neal cringed and looked down at his feet.

"Let's get you back to bed." Neal followed willingly and for a minute Peter was reminded of a sick puppy.

"Here" Peter said as he carefully poured out a dose of cough medicine.

"This always makes me feel drugged" Neal looked with distaste at the bottle.

"It's supposed to" Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Neal tried handing the dose back to Peter, who promptly handed it back to Neal.

"But I don't like feeling drugged" Neal protested. Peter glared at him and Neal dutifully swallowed the medicine, wrinkling his nose at the taste.

"Now just…be quiet and get some sleep."

Neal curled up on the bed, pulling the covers over his nose.

* * *

Peter went upstairs to check on Neal, careful not to make the stairs creak. By the time he reached Neal's room, he could hear little snuffling sounds coming from under the covers.

"Neal? Neal? Neal!" Peter pushed the covers back from Neal's face. And instantly felt bad for leaving Neal alone. His CI's blue eyes were red from crying and he was tucked in a little ball.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Peter asked, trying for a comforting tone. Neal just shook his head, his dark brown hair stuck up in different directions.

"P'ter…I—I—don't like being sick" he mumbled. Peter just rubbed Neal's back, feeling the way his muscles tensed with each sob. Peter gently pressed is hand to Neal's forehead, checking for a fever. He managed to coax Neal to accept a thermometer. Neal made a face, but was too sick to really protest. Peter pulled out the thermometer and held back a groan. The digital numbers read 102.3.

* * *

**~TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

_**102.3**_

* * *

Even with his limited medical knowledge, Peter knew Neal's fever was high. However, he didn't think it was high enough to warrant a visit to the doctor. Neal whimpered restlessly, looking more vulnerable and young than Peter had seen him for awhile.

Peter was awful at being anything close to comforting. El was the one who was better at consoling someone. Still, he tried to reassure Neal, rubbing one, awkward hand up and down Neal's sweaty back. Neal only moaned and kept his eyes tightly closed. Peter sighed as he heard the phone ring.

"Peter?" came El's sweet and soothing voice.

"Hey, hon" Peter must have sounded more relieved than he thought, because El's next comment was…

"How's Neal?"

"Well…he's sick" he hears El's gasp on the other end.

"Oh no. Fever?"

"Yeah. 102.3…and apparently vomiting" Peter said as he heard Neal retching in the bathroom.

"Hon, you should probably go. It really sounds like he's sick."

"Alright…I'll talk to you later" Peter sighed as he hung up and went to deal with a very sick Neal.

"Neal? Neal?" Peter knocked on the bathroom door. He slowly pushed open the door and stopped in shock. His CI was curled on the bathroom tile, eyes red and streaming with tears.

"I'm s'rry P'ter…I'm s'rry" Neal hiccupped miserably. Peter hid his grimace and reaching over Neal, flushed the toilet.

"Hey, hey. Look at me. There's nothing to be sorry for. You're okay" Peter crouched down, pulling Neal into a crooked hug. Peter had never thought he'd be crouched on the bathroom floor of his own house with the man he'd chased for three years huddled against him.

"Okay, let's get you into some dry clothes" when Peter finally stood up his knees popped and Neal flinched at the sound. He practically carried Neal down the hall and back to the bedroom, helping to change him into a dry t-shirt and sweatpants. Normally Neal would have protested at going anywhere near of sweat pants, but this time he didn't even resist.

Once Peter had wrestled Neal into bed, he quietly closed the door behind him and went downstairs to finish case files.

* * *

_Peter!_

Peter jerked his head up from the table. Beside him, Satchmo whined and lifted his head from his paws. Before Peter could even get out of the chair, Satchmo was already padding up the stairs, heading straight to Neal's room.

"Peter!" came the frantic call again.

"Neal! NEAL!" Peter burst into Neal's room and stopped short as he saw Neal thrashing, tangled in the blankets, a sweaty shine adorning his face.

Peter quickly pinned Neal's arms to the mattress, at the same time struggling to wake him up from the nightmare he seemed to be trapped inside of.

Finally, Neal's remarkably blue eyes flew open and he sat up with a loud gasp, pushing off Peter's hands with seemingly inhuman strength.

"P'ter!" a small frown appeared across his face, "but I—I—I thought you were dead! You died! You're not real!" Neal tried to hide his face from Peter and Peter felt his heart constrict.

"Neal! Look at me. I'm right here. I'm still alive" Peter forcefully pulled Neal's chin around so that he had to look at Peter. He watched as Neal's haunted eyes desperately searched his face for the truth. Pleading blue eyes met reassuring brown ones and Neal heaved a shaky breath.

"Go back to sleep" Peter soothed, pulling a new blanket from the closet and spreading it over Neal's trembling body.

"P'ter?"

"Yeah, Neal?"

"You're—you're not going to leave me?"

"No, Neal. I'm not" Peter sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He sat back on the edge of the bed and put a comforting hand on Neal's shoulder.

"Promise?" Neal murmured.

"I promise. Now go to _bed_!" Peter growled. Despite himself, he reached over and felt Neal's forehead and realized his fever had gone down.

* * *

**Looks like I'm just about done here. Thanks you to everyone who reviewed this story! I hope to be writing some more stuff soon!**


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